


when it rains

by Merideath



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Feels, Comfort Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-10 04:30:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merideath/pseuds/Merideath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's late at night, pouring with rain and a hero is knocking at her door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. rain

**Author's Note:**

> Awhile ago Katertots prompted me with a gif set from the show Roswell of Michael showing up at Maria's door in the pouring rain. So I can wholeheartedly say this is all Katertots fault. 
> 
> Katertots made me write is so she got the hellish job of beta'ing. What would I do without her?

She is curled up asleep under the quilt her grandmother made when she is woken by knocking heavy enough to rattle the door on its frame. She blinks blearily at the clock on her phone—2:37am. She flicks on the lamp and throws the covers back in a huff, knocking her glasses off the table onto the floor in her rush. “Fuck,” she mutters under her breath, scooping her glasses up and putting them on. She heads for the door, grabbing her taser off the dresser and looking through the peephole. “Steve?” she exclaims, dropping her taser back on the chest of drawers and scrabbles with the chain and the locks on the door.

“Hey,” Steve says as soon as she opens the door. “If it’s too late I can leave. I didn’t know where to go.”

“Jesus Steve you’re soaked,” Darcy say as she grabs his coat and drags him into her little studio apartment. He is soaked through to the skin, a puddle forming around his feet. His hair is plastered to his forehead, eyes haunted, skin pale and cold to the touch.

“They found him,” Steve says, voice thick as he stands awkwardly in front of her and Darcy tugs at the heavy weight of his leather jacket, pulling it off his wide shoulders and letting it drop in a heap on the floor.

“They found who?” she asks, not sure he would give her an answer; superheroes and classified information is way above her pay grade. Nor was she entirely sure if she wants to know. In the few months that she has worked at the tower they have, in her opinion, become friends, but he has never been in her apartment before, though he did walk her home once or twice from getting coffee or rummaging around old book stores and markets. She has seen Steve upset, angry and frustrated at SHIELD and the modern world, but not like this. So devastated and broken, like his heart has been put through a blender. “Come on let’s get you out of these wet clothes okay.”  
“Bucky, they found Bucky. He’s alive,” Steve says, and she racks her brain trying to think who Bucky is. It is way too late, or too early for this. Oh shit.

“That’s good news right?” she asks, because he doesn’t sound like it’s a good thing at all. She begins to unbutton his shirt and he makes no move to stop her.

“He’s in SHIELD HQ; he doesn’t remember who he is,” Steve says as she unbuttons his cuffs and strips the shirt from his shoulders. “He doesn’t remember me.” Darcy doesn’t say anything, not sure she can find the words anyway. She begins to tug at his belt but the leather has swollen from the rain. Steve’s icy hands cover hers and he pushes her hands away to tug his belt free, and she leaves him to strip his trousers off and grabs a fluffy green towel from her bathroom.

Steve stands soaking wet and nearly naked in her tiny apartment, and looks like he has been broken. She rubs his hair with the towel to dry it, wipes a tear on his cheek with her thumb. “Come on Steve,” she says and tugs on his hand to get him moving. “Drop your linen, too, soldier and get into bed,” she orders and if that isn’t the most ridiculous thing she has ever said she doesn’t know what it. “I promise not to look.” And she doesn’t. She listens though, to the creak of the bed under his weight and the rustle of the blankets as he settles into bed. She picks up his clothes, draping them over bits of furniture to hopefully dry by morning.

When she turns to look at him on the bed, he is curled on his side facing away from her and the sight makes her heart hurt. Her teeth scrape along her bottom lip and she wonders about curling up to sleep in the thrift shop chair by the window when his shoulders shake. Right. She climbs into the bed behind him, hesitating for only a moment before wrapping her arm around him. She kisses his shoulder and holds him tightly, till he stops shaking and his breath evens out in sleep.


	2. warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warmth between the sheets to chase away the demons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The little plotbunny for this story just wouldn't let go of me, and then Ink encouraged, enabled, and walked right into beta'ing services for her troubles. I'm quite pleased at how this chapter/ficlet turned out. I have way too many feels for Steve right now so I'm going to go over there and sniffle a bit.

It’s still dark when she wakes again blinking the sleep from her eyes. Steve’s warm weight draped over her, his fingertips twitching against her side, a tremor runs through his body and his breath hitches on a sob. “Steve? Wake up. You’re dreaming,” Darcy says shaking his shoulder, his skin is hot and she is briefly thankful that the cold has subsided. Steve murmurs into her hair, and she shakes his shoulder again. 

“Wake up soldier,” she says louder, Steve’s breathing stops a second before he rolls on top of her, pinning her to the bed. His hands are wrapped around her wrists, pinning them over her head, legs are tangled together, his breath harsh, panting, tickling her skin. He shifts against her and she can feel the hard length of him pressed against her hip. His whole body shudders above her as his eyes clear. He loosens his grip on her wrists, releasing them, pressing his palms flat on the bed.

Apologies spill from his lips, his voice gravelly and thick in the darkness. She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him close opening her mouth to speak but his mouth is on hers before she can whisper a word. It’s hard and bruising, his tongue invading, curling against her tongue, exploring the roof of her mouth, the sharp edges of her teeth. She can taste tears on his tongue, feel them splash against her skin as he pulls off her clothes until she is bare and naked beneath him. Heat and pleasure. Salt and skin.

Hours later when the sun streams through her small window Steve is curled up tight behind her back. His hand splayed out over her belly, his breath tickling against her ear. “M’sorry,” he says voice husky and barely above a whisper.

“For what?” Darcy asks wrinkling her brow and turning her head to search his face.

“The...I...last night. It shouldn’t have happened. Not like that,” Steve says stumbling over his words, his brow furrowed and his eyes worried. Darcy turns over in his arms, he doesn’t pull away of balk at the press of her breasts against his bare chest.

“You done berating yourself for something that you can’t change? You ever think that it was my choice too? That I could have said no instead of kissing you back? Pushed you away instead of pulling you inside me?”

“Oh. I, um, wasn’t really thinking?” Steve falters, closing his eyes and rubbing his hand over his face.

“We good?” Darcy hums softly and kisses Steve’s jaw.

“Yeah...I think?” Steve says rolling onto his back and pulling her close to his side.

“So you gonna tell me what’s going on?” she asks pressing her palm over his heart.

“Can I just...”

“What?”

“Can I just hold you awhile first?” he asks and she has to blink back tears. There are things they need to talk about, but right now she can bite back the words on her tongue. She can hold him tight and hope that her touch is enough to ground him. She lays her head on his shoulder, throws her leg over his hips and holds him as tightly as he holds onto her. She feels him harden against her thigh, he opens his mouth and she can see the ‘I’m sorry’ in his eyes and she presses her fingertips to his lips.

“No apologies,” she says softly and kisses him, licking into his mouth until they are both breathless and heat pools slick between her thighs. He pulls her over him, hands sliding over her back, hips, and breasts, mapping out every inch of skin with strong calloused hands. Losing himself in the press of skin, the synchronicity of breaths and the steady drumming of hearts.


	3. anger

They don’t talk. Well they do, once they have showered separately and Steve has carefully dressed himself in his still damp clothes. They talk with her tiny chipped table and mugs of coffee between them. There is anger and grief in his words and his tone and he rubs his face with his hand. 

She reaches across the table to pull his other hand free of his coffee mug and lace their fingers together. The look on his face, so grateful of such a small act twists her guts more than learning the broken tale of Sergeant James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes. 

He does try to apologize again, and she stands up steps around the table and drapes herself across his lap, hugging him tightly. “Idiot,” she murmurs and kisses the side of his mouth silencing him for a little while. 

Its hours later, but it feels like days as Darcy waits in a bland corridor of S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ, she leans against the wall and glares daggers at any of the agents who look her way. She can’t hear what’s going on in the room behind her, though everyone once in a while she can hear the rumble of Steve using his Captain America voice and she winces, leaning her head back against the wall, closing her eyes and focusing on the ache of muscles and bruises marked on her skin. 

She is in mid yawn when the door is thrown open and bounces against the wall. Steve steps out of the room, his face dark, fists clenched tight at his sides. He doesn’t say anything but she takes up the space at his side, hurrying along half a step behind him. She doesn’t glance back to see Fury or Hill leave the room. In the quiet of the elevator she wraps her hands around his fist, he is shaking and she frowns.

“M’sorry, I don’t--” he murmurs so low she barely hears it.

“Don't. Let’s just get you home okay,” Darcy says leaning her head against his shoulder briefly. Steve blows out a puff of air, but nods when she looks up at him. When they step out of the elevator he turns his hand and presses their palms together fingers laced. He leads the way out of the building and out on the sidewalk, the pace he sets is close to gruelling but he slows his steps enough for her to keep up. 

The rain is still falling, fat icy droplets that cover her glasses, drip over Steve’s still damp jacket. The streets are glossy and black, puddles of water reflecting buildings and black skies. Darcy shivers as the rain soaks through her clothing, her umbrella and coat left behind on an uncomfortable plastic chair. She is panting for breath when they reach the Tower, shoving her wet hair out of her face, and squinting behind foggy glasses. Steve is still vibrating with barely suppressed rage, his jaw clenching and unclenching. 

She’s never been in his apartment before, and though she is curious, she stands in a slowly forming puddle, shifting from foot to foot as he leans against the closed door running his hands through his wet hair. 

“Do you need to go punch some bags or fuck?” she asks bluntly and Steve jerks as if struck.

“What?” he says dumbly, dropping his hands “I don’t want to...I don’t want that.” 

“You’re so angry right now you’re trembling. Go punch something in that ridiculous gym Stark built, until you’ve worked some of it off. I’m not going anywhere,” Darcy says and leans up to kiss the side of his mouth. She pulls back and Steve cups the back of her head and brings her mouth back to his. It’s firm, and closed mouthed and bittersweet.

“Thank you,” he says licking his lips and shaking his head. “I’ll be back in a little while.”

He’s gone for more than a little while, long enough that Darcy has showered, and put on one of Steve’s button down shirts while her clothes dry. The suite is huge, and though she knows he prefers his tiny Brooklyn apartment, this one is decorated in earthy tones, with vintage decorations, books, files, and art supplies piled everywhere. She can’t help but smile at the slight disarray of his space as she curls up in a plush chair with a book from the shelf. 

She’s lost in a terrible and quite wonderful pulp fiction novel when the door opens and Steve slips into the room. His hair is slicked back and he is wearing clean sweats with a stylized ‘A’ on the hips, and a plain white t-shirt. 

“Better?” Darcy asks closing the book and standing up. Steve’s eyes rake over her and she tugs at the hem of his shirt self-consciously. “I borrowed a shirt I hope you don’t mind?”

He crosses the room and sweeps her up into his arms and kisses her, hard and demanding, his hands sliding down to possessively cup her bare ass and lift her up against him. “I’m better now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter fought me but I'm pretty pleased with how it ended even though it means I needed to split up the second half into a chapter on it's own. But that means a new chapter to read in a few days so that's good right?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story would not be what it is without the wonderful inkandash kicking my ass to get it written and then kicking my ass with her beta'ing skills or Katertots sending me the gif set prompt that started the whole ball rolling.

The following weeks aren’t easy, not by a long shot, but she makes herself a permanent feature in his life. She tells herself it isn’t love. That’s not a word in her vocabulary, unless it relates to shoes, and books, but she’s tied herself to him nevertheless. He pushes her away and she pushes right back, until he pulls her close, burrows his hands in her hair, presses his face into the curve of her neck, his breath warm on her skin. 

Grief and anger roll through him in waves. The sex doesn’t fix anything, but when he loses himself in her, buries himself as deep as he can go there is a peace that slips over him. It’s enough for her, even if sometimes she wonders if it’s enough for him.

Steve visits the Winter Soldier, and it is the Winter Soldier and not Bucky he visits; every day. Darcy stands in the outer room where an agent monitors the video feed; Steve refuses to let her follow him into the Winter Soldier’s holding cell. She watches as Steve talks until his voice falters and cracks. The only response from the assassin is empty words and hollow laughter.

The visit isn’t going well, the Winter Soldier’s face is impassive, his voice monotone, eyes dull and lifeless. Darcy has torn her paper coffee cup to shreds while watching Steve’s jaw clench and unclench as he struggles to stay calm. He holds up a photograph of the Howling Commandos and the Winter Soldier snarls and looks away.

She sweeps the remnants of the cup from her lap and crosses the room to swing open the door before the agent can stop her. “Steve, it’s time to go or we’ll be late,” she says and the Winter Soldier’s gaze rakes over her. He sneers and a shiver runs down her spine.

“Yeah, sorry I lost track of the time,” Steve murmurs slipping the photo into his folder and stepping towards where she stands in the doorway, ignoring the agent at her back.

"You always did have a thing for brunettes, punk,” the Winter Soldier says and Steve freezes mid-step eyes widening and meeting hers.

“Bucky,” Steve says reverently a tremor running through his as he slowly turns around to face the man on the bed.

“Mary Elizabeth O’Connell she was....she was...” the Soldier trails off in confusion and surprise at his own words.

"Who?" Darcy whispers reaching out to lay her hand on Steve’s back.

"Mrs. O'Connell rent out the attic space above her apartment. She fed us the winter I turned sixteen, Buck was fifteen. I was so sick, and we spent all the money we had on buying medicine. Mrs. O’Connell sent Mary Elizabeth up with dinner most nights. She was eighteen, pretty as a picture, and wouldn’t give us the time of day. Never had the guts to say anything to her."

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” the Winter Soldier says, but there is the shadow of a lie in the words, and a spark of life in his eyes. They leave after that, Darcy dragging Steve out of HQ as fast as they can. He breaks in the tower elevator, sinking to his knees and burying his face in her dress.

He cries into the soft fabric of her sweater, arms wrapped so tight around her that it hurts. She cards her fingers through his hair, murmuring softly, fighting back the tears pricking at her eyes. The doors open and close several times and Darcy shakes her head and glares at anyone who thinks of stepping in with them.

“Steve?” she says softly and he sighs against her, loosening his grip and pulling himself up to his feet. There are tears in his eyes, and his cheeks and nose are red, but the smile on his lips make her heart beat faster.

He cradles her face in his calloused hands and kisses her, softly, the barest brush of his lips on hers. “Thank you, Darcy.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You did, you brought him back, just for a second. You gave me hope. You kept me together when everything was falling to pieces again. You ground me,” Steve says and kisses her again, tongue sweeping into her mouth, one hand sliding into her hair and the other sliding down her spine to the small of her back.

Salt and earth and rain.

fin.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a huge stack of fics with Katertots to beta so I promise there will be some more stories up soon. Poor Katertots, I've been incredibly prolific in my writing lately and she has the job of calming me down, enabling me to write more and then whipping my writing into shape.


End file.
